


Scarecrow and the Harran Pandemic

by sevenholypathstohell



Category: Dying Light (Video Game), REILLY Matthew - Works, Scarecrow Series - Matthew Reilly
Genre: Gen, MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE GAME DO NOT LOOK, Post-Game, United States Marine Corps, Zombie Apocalypse, gre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenholypathstohell/pseuds/sevenholypathstohell
Summary: Kyle Crane, one-time government agent and hero of the Harran viral outbreak, has gone missing. A team of crack US Marines led by the legendary Scarecrow must uncover what happened to him and any research he has, but little do they know they have just been sent into hell itself. They are about to come face to face with the apex predators of the zombie apocalypse.Takes place after the events of The Following. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.





	1. Prologue

_ 1 week prior _

_ Nate’s Supermarket _

**_0100 hrs - 5 hours until daylight._ **

With a gingerly push, Jake lifted open the manhole cover, UV flashlight the ready. Scanning the surroundings, he reached down to tap his partner on the ladder, who showed a thumbs up to the guy below them.

_ Clear _ .

 

The trio climbed out, continuously mindful of their surroundings, weapons at the ready. At this time of night, the Volatiles would be out hunting, leaving their precious nests unguarded. Still, as they knew, one could never be too careful with Volatiles. They held their breath, listening for the tell-tale breathing that signalled the presence of the most dangerous class of Infected. After several moments, they let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Looks clear to me.” Jake said. “No Volatiles on aisle 5.”

“We fucking stink though,” his partner Hafiz whined “I wouldn’t be surprised if they think we’re one of them.”

“Implying that’s a bad thing.” Jasrah chuckled. He in particular looked forward to sneaking up behind a zed and shanking it.

“C’mon, let’s find that nest.”

 

The three broke into the supermarket with the help of Hafiz’s lockpicking. In pitch blackness, they swept through the abandoned supermarket, picking up whatever they could find. In the early days of the infection, survivors had already picked the shelves almost clean of whatever could be kept. Everything else, especially the fresh fish, sat there rotting like the rest of the city did. As such, when Jasrah found a box of his favorite cereal sitting on the top shelf, he let his guard down for a vital split second. As he reached out to grab it, something else grabbed him.

“Ah! Motherfucker! Get off you piece of shit!”

A torsoless Biter that he had thought dead gripped his leg and made to gnaw on it. Jasrah jumped onto the top shelf, trying to shake the damn Biter clear. Unfortunately, the flimsy shelf gave way and crashed to the floor, sending both Jasrah and the Biter falling a full seven feet.

“Jasrah!”

Jake and Hafiz rounded the corner, smashing the Biter to bits with their baseball bats.

“Are you hurt? Did it get you?”

Jake stepped forward and uncovered Jasrah’s pant leg.

“Hmm don’t think it bit you but we’ll have to watch you for the next couple days.”

“Aww that’s bloody great.” Jasrah spat. “I just got out of the infirmary for that nasty cold and now this.”

“Uh huh. Standard procedure, my man. Unless you’d rather chop your leg off with your machete.”

Jake stuck his hand out for Jasrah.

“Upsy-daisy, we gotta find that-”

A guttural roar made them spin round, facing the storefront. A distant roar, but enough to give even these experienced runners the shivers.

“They must’ve heard our commotion,” Hafiz said “let’s not dick around.”

 

The three runners hustled to the rear of the supermarket, finally locating several piles of skulls and carcasses swimming in blood. The nest.

“Damn it, we were too late.” Jake spat “They’ve hatched. Let’s burn this shit and get out of here.”

Another roar. Closer this time.

“What, I mean what the  _ fuck _ is that?!” Hafiz asked shakily. “A Volatile?!” 

“I don’t think so.” Jasrah replied “They don’t sound like that, way too low to be one of those nightmares.”

“Doesn’t sound like any other Infected I’ve heard either.” Jake agreed, pouring some cheap wine he’d retrieved on the nest.

“Jake, hurry the fuck up!” Hafiz hissed.

“Okay! Okay! Annnd done!”

“Get clear.” Jasrah said. He tossed his activated lighter into the nest, and within moments, the nest started to burn.

“Now let’s go.”

 

They moved back out through the front, desperate to get back through the manhole to safety. Upon leaving through the door, they promptly scanned their surroundings- streets, cars, even the roof of the supermarket. No sign of whatever it was that made those dreadful roars.

“Fuck this, let’s just get home ASAP.” Hafiz started down the manhole ladder.

“Hafiz, wait!” Jake shouted.

He turned just in time to see something yank the poor kid into the sewer, heard him scream for a mere second before it was abruptly, mercilessly cut off in a sickening crunch of flesh and bone.

“No!! Hafiiiiiiz!!”

“It’s too late, Jake! Run!” Jasrah yelled.

 

The two survivors bolted into the night, running for all they were worth. Out of all the new runners at the Tower, they were two of the faster ones, but with Jasrah slightly banged up from the near miss at the supermarket, Jake could only hope and pray to his gods that he would make it. Leaping rooftop to rooftop, he dashed towards the only place outside the Tower that was safe for the night- an abandoned house whose previous owners had all been eaten or turned, and that the three of them had prepared earlier in the day. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake swore he could see something following him. Something monstrous and inhumanly quick. He cracked the last of his UV flares and dropped it as he ran, hoping to ward off the pursuer. Rounding a bend, he doubled up his pace as he prepared to make the final 20 foot jump to safety. Just as his feet cleared the ledge, he felt something powerful grab him by his knees in mid-air!

_ NO!! _ He screamed as the thing yanked him towards it like a fish on a line. The last thing Jake McDonell saw was a face straight from his worst nightmares. A face contorted with sheer malice and hunger, with pitiless bloodshot eyes and what seemed to be a crown of horns erupting from its skull. From the beast’s mouth sprouted a vile tongue that wrapped itself around his neck and chest. Fatally trapped in its embrace, Jake’s final rational thought was,  _ You were right, Jasrah. This isn’t a Volatile _ . The hunter jerked its head, effortlessly tearing off the upper half of Jake’s body and roared in triumph as it slurped his blood.

 

Meanwhile Jasrah, for the second time that night, had fallen. This time, he’d landed on a roof whose wooden support beams had rotten away, giving way under the impact of his landing. This time, he knew he would not get away- his ankle had shattered during the fall. The noise would soon attract the horde. He spat out a mouthful of blood, reached into his pants for his voice recorder and hit ‘record’.

“ _ To anyone who finds this, my name is Jasrah Özil. I have lived to thirty two years young and I...” he grunted in agony “I have died a mortal man.”.  _ He paused again to take his safety knife to his arm and opened it up.

“ _ There, I’ve done it. _ ” He chuckled “ _ I will NOT be one of them. Dear friend, now that you have found me, please take this recording back to The Tower. Find a man named Brecken. Tell him there is a new...a new...” _

He labored for breath, “A new In...fec-”

 

Jasrah turned round as his vision faded to black, and in his last moments saw the horde descend upon him like vultures. Above them on a rooftop, he could make out one of them lording over the rest, a king to the hungry masses.

 

The night of the Hunter had begun...


	2. Ch.1: Into the Frying Pan

_ Present day _

_ Airspace above Harran, Turkey _

**_0800 hours - 13 hours till until night_ **

The cabin of the C-130 was deathly quiet, save for the hum of its four turboprop engines. Eight men and women were the cargo for today. All were similarly clothed and decked out- light kevlar helmets, green ‘woodland’ pattern uniforms, ballistic vests, arm guards, and guns. Lots of guns, for they were from the United States Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance, a unit of elites from one of the world’s most renowned fighting forces. This particular team had been loaned to the Global Relief Effort- the GRE that was, until recently, doing its best to contain the spread of the Harran virus. Leading them was a man who was both an enigma and a legend in the force, whose name was spoken only with the utmost reverence- Captain Shane Schofield. Callsign- ‘Scarecrow’. Schofield sat towards the interior of the cargo hold, and as usual, he was in a pensive mood. Despite being indoors, he wore a pair of silver anti-flash Oakleys, his signature. It disguised one of his greatest failures, manifested in physical form. 

 

“Whatcha thinkin about, champ?” his second in command asked “What has the great, all-conquering Scarecrow got on his mind?”

Schofield turned to face the only person in the world who had the balls to call him by anything other than ‘sir’.

“Eh I’m fine, Mother. It’s just...” he rubbed his chin “I’ve never been on something like this before. Yeah, I can deal with human bad guys, but jesus, we’re heading into something right out of a sci fi movie.”

‘Mother’ was a Gunnery Sergeant with a crew cut named Gena Newman. At six feet tall, she dwarfed her CO and the rest of the squad, and so she sat next to Schofield and, out of sight of the other Marines, held his hand.

“Mhmm, shit’s got me wigged out too, but you know why they chose us for this op. We’re the best of the best when it comes to taking down these zombie shits for brains. We all ran the course, they gave us the green light. Hey at least we’re gonna be together in this, and we’ll be unstoppable.”

“Yeah.” A smile inched its way onto Schofield’s cheek “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make this work.”

“Now that’s the Scarecrow I know.” Mother grinned. Schofield almost had to remind himself she wasn’t called that because of any motherly instincts. No, it was short for ‘Motherfucker’.

“Let’s hope nothing bites your ass this time round.”

“You first, asshole.” She snickered as they both got up to brief their troops, slinging their rifles.

 

The rest of the Marines stood up to salute Schofield as he walked in their direction. Once again, his face was a blank sheet, helped by the fact he constantly wore those silver Oakleys.

“At ease, Marines. Just do your final gear checks and prep for the jump. Are we all clear about our task here?” he called above the sound of the engines

“Yes, sir.” Came the unanimous reply. Even Mother threw her reply in for the hell of it.

“Just so we’re all on the same page, I will repeat the main objectives. We are to find GRE Operative Kyle Crane, I expect you’re all to be somewhat familiar with how he looks, otherwise refer to your copy of the dossier. We are to find him and extract him alive if possible, or give him a humane death if he has turned. Our second objective is to recover any research pertaining to the virus and transfer it to the GRE. Intel says that Crane may be in possession of such research Any questions?”

“Yeah, I have one.” One of them piped up. “Do you know the GRE a bunch of lying fucks who want to kill everyone or are we just being their lapdogs?”

Mother was there in a flash, towering over the dissenting Marine. He shrunk back into his seat immediately.

“Don’t you fucking try me, Rattler. Let me know if you want your ass in jail for gross insubordination.”

“He’s right, Mother.” Schofield said, to everyone’s shock. “They are liars, cowards and above all murderers for what they did to these people, but I have an idea of what to with the research. If we find it.”

Mother stood her ground, only so much as raising an eyebrow, before returning her deadly gaze to Corporal ‘Rattler’ Rourke.

“I’d wipe that smug look off your face if I were you, Rattler.” One Marine called from across the cabin. Sergeant Buck “Book II” Riley Jr stared at him with not an iota of emotion.

Another veteran of Schofield’s previous tours of duty, he was an equally tough warrior who truly knew his craft.

“Doesn’t change the fact we’re someone’s lapdogs.” Rattler shrugged. “And now I’ll muzzle myself again like a good dog. Woof woof.”

“You watch yourself, Corporal. Nobody else here enjoyed your little show.” Mother hissed.

The rest of the Marines sat in silence, rolling their eyes. Most of them knew Rattler from the Recon course, or otherwise had trained with him in some capacity. While his commanders praised his technical proficiency, he was also notorious for going lone wolf. Such was it occurred to one of the pencil-pushing operations commanders to have him put on this particular team in order to potentially rid the Corps of his attitude.

“Now, are there any real questions?” Schofield continued.

Nobody thought to speak up after Rattler’s outburst, fearing more rebukes from the fearsome Mother.

“None? Great, now do your final gear checks, make sure you have your antizin, your chutes and your weapons ready. No telling what awaits us down there.

 

Several minutes later, the rear door to the massive cargo plane opened and the cabin depressurized. The Marines, lined up and ready to jump, could barely hear one another over the roar of the engines. The buzzer sounded, and Schofield nudged them all out the door one by one.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Book II took point and jumped first, followed by Corporals ‘Smoke’ Wilson and Rattler, followed by Private ‘Bull’ Turnbull, Mother, Corporal ‘Qui-Gon’ Jin, and Sergeant ‘Meta’ Maroney. Finally, Schofield himself made the leap into the unknown, into the heart of the apocalypse. From ten thousand feet up, the city of Harran looked like a hellhole, as fires raged out of control, blanketing the skyline with smog. Down below, the Marines could vaguely make out the screams of the living, the moans and roars of the Infected. As they ripped their chutes open and took in the sights, a chill came down each and every one of their spines as they realized they might not make it out of this city. This operation was well and truly sending them to hell.   
  


_ The Slums _

They landed in what was once a soccer court, now littered with the bodies of the dead and the undead alike. Shrugging off his parachute, Schofield counted strength. Six, including himself.

“Where’s Mother and Qui-Gon?”

“Wind musta taken them North.” Meta stated.

“Ugh.” Schofield frowned as the stench finally hit him. He took a knee to load his weapon, an HK416 carbine with a suppressor, spurring everyone else to do the same. At the same time, he keyed his radio.

“Mother, Qui-Gon, have you touched down?”

Mother replied “We’ve landed in some kinda projects looking area on a rooftop. I saw where you guys landed, we’re a quarter mile north of you. Some fuckin wind we’ve got today.”

Even with his Oakleys, Schofield squinted in the broad daylight.

He could make out several apartment blocks in Mother’s direction.

“Yea I see em. Stay where you are, I’ll get my guys to this Tower and I’ll come for you.”

“Don’t keep my toasty ass waitin, Scarecrow. Mother out.”

 

“So what’s the plan, boss?” Rattler asked.

“We need to get to a place called the Tower, find either a man called Brecken or a woman named Lena. They may have information pertaining to our Crane fellow.”

“Uhhh guys.” Smoke said, pointing to a group of Infected about sixty feet away. Most were plodding in their general direction, various bits and bobs and entire limbs hanging off their shambling forms. Upon spotting the Marines, one of them let out a croak and almost seem to point in their direction. Another one started to seemingly trot towards them, its innards popping right out of its abdomen.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Bull exclaimed.

“I have a very bad feeling about this.” Book II added.

“Die, you sonovabitch zombie!” Rattler cocked his rifle and pumped two rounds into the weird Infected from fifteen feet away. To his shock, the Infected exploded, throwing him and half the squad off their feet and coating them with its guts. The roars of more Infected in the distance meant they had heard everything.

And then everything went to hell on a freight train.


End file.
